The medic at the staging area peeled the dressing back, looked at the stitches, and made a noise through her nose.
"You've pulled three of these," she said.
"Two."
"Three. That one's holding by a thread, literally." She pressed a fresh dressing over it and taped it down hard. "You lifted something yesterday."
"A lintel."
"Course you did." She stood back. "You're cleared to travel. You're not cleared to lift any more lintels. If those go, you'll be leaking all the way to Sligo."
"Understood."
"No, you're not. But I've said it."
He pulled his shirt down. His whole left side had gone stiff overnight, and when he reached up to get his jacket off the truck's side rail, the dressing pulled like a fishhook.
Behind him, soldiers were loading six trucks in the school car park.
Finn came across the car park with his kit bag over one shoulder and his axes in their case.
